They discovered Aarav's body only when the smell became too thick to be ignored.
By then, it would not have mattered if he'd slipped away quietly or in torment. There was nothing left for death to do.
The matron pressed her sleeve to her nose and gone toward the door.
"One less responsibility," she muttered.
No one argued.
Aarav was laying motionlessly on the floor, his gaze fixed upward. His expression remained cold—almost indifferent—
Sixteen years.
That was all the world had given him.
He hadn't prayed at the end. Prayers are requests, and requests are for people who think someone is listening. In Aarav's experience, listeners were in short supply.
As his rate of breathing had slowed, his final thought was not one of regret.
It was calculation.
If this is it, then the world is very inefficient, he had thought, a faint internal smile lingering.
Then, the darkness fell.
But instead of fading, his awareness constricted. His mind began to explore the void.
It felt like being observed.
Not judged.
Not pitied.
Investigated.
Then, the darkness tore apart.
Aarav gasped.
Pain. Feeling. Thoughts.
Not deceased after all.
He stood up cautiously, as if making a sudden move might attract notice. The wind struggled against him from every direction, pulling at clothes he didn't own.
He was on a cliff.
And seeing A land so expansive that it seemed to have no measure stretched before him—forests that devoured horizons, rivers that scored the earth like veins, and sleeping giants in the shape of cities beneath a broad sky.
Aarav's eyes took it all in.
There was no awe.
Only objective assessment.
"This isn't Earth," he stated aloud.
He turned his attention to his hands. Younger-looking. Stronger. No scars from his debilitating illness. No trembling.
Reincarnation.
There was a slight shimmer of light before him. Words formed in the air. They didn't ask for permission; they simply demanded to be read.
[System Error: Anomaly Detected]
[Reconstruction Complete.]
[Status: Irregular.]
[Fate: Unbound.]
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Well, I wasn't brought here by mere luck," he whispered. "Good."
The words spoke of reconstruction, of status, of irregularities. They implied that pain was real and death was permanent.
It was a relief.
If consequences were real, then so was leverage.
The words vanished. The wind howled harder.
Well above the clouds, a massive shift occurred. A shadow uncoiled itself, sunlight glinting off scales of polished gold.
A dragon.
Aarav watched it, his eyes tracking its trajectory.
"A functional ecosystem," he noted. "Predators included."
Pieces of memory emerged in his mind. He had seen this before. A world that existed in the corner of a sentence from his previous life. A name surfaced.
Where Winds Meet.
There was no change in his expression. If this was that world, then power had not been doled out evenly. The pen here had been wielded by those who survived, not by saints.
A fitting place.
Footsteps crunched behind him.
Aarav turned.
A woman stood Behind him by a few steps away. Her sword was halfway out of its sheath and her clothes muddied with blood that had long since dried. Her gaze was sharp, trained, and deadly.
But she didn't look particularly startled that he was still breathing.
"You awakened quicker than I thought," she said.
Aarav observed her like a machine whose usage was yet unknown.
"You expected me to die?"
"Yes."
"Then you miscalculated."
This caused a slight pause.
Before she could answer, the wind changed once more. This gust was different; it carried the metallic tang of iron.
Figures began to appear from the mist at the edge of the platform.
Six of them.
Men with carved masks and immobile, painted smiles. They marched in perfect harmony, like toy soldiers. Their flags carried an emblem that triggered Aarav's nerves—a broken eye.
The woman cursed under her breath.
"Cultists," she hissed. "They found us."
One of the armed men tilted his head.
His eyes fixed upon Aarav.
"Kill him first," a voice interrupted. "Loose ends lead to complications."
Aarav did not step back.
He did not ask for a weapon.
Neither did he seek assistance.
He calculated.
Distance to the edge. Wind direction. The woman's injury. The cultist formation.
He knew instinctively that running would be death. Hiding behind the woman would also be death—just slightly delayed.
"But if he acted—"
The woman initiated the attack with a flash of steel.
Steel screeched against steel.
Blood splattered.
Aarav watched, as one cultist went down, his throat was opened, At that time a second cultist plunging a blade into the woman's side.
She stumbled.
Now was the time.
Aarav moved forward—not toward the fight, but toward the wounded cultist who was crawling toward the cliff's edge to escape the woman's blade.
The man's arm instinctively reached out toward Aarav.
"Help..."
Aarav held his wrist.
For one heartbeat, they locked eyes through the mask.
Then Aarav twisted and pushed.
The scream cut off abruptly as the body disappeared into the valley.
There was only silence.
The rest of the cultists froze. Not in fear. In reassessment.
The woman looked at Aarav in disbelief, the marks of blood on her face glimmering in the sun.
"You..."
"I eliminated one variable," Aarav said flatly. "He was hurt. Good for nothing to you. But he was deadly to me."
Another cultist roared and attacked him.
Aarav did not dodge.
He stepped into the swing, caught the man's elbow, and used the cultist's own momentum to swing him toward the cliff.
The man's claws scrabbled on the stone.
"Wait—!"
Aarav let go.
Two bodies were now falling. The wind engulfed their cries.
The remaining cultists retreated, their eyes concealed, but their defiant posture faltered.
"This one's wrong," one muttered.
"Yes," Aarav agreed, his voice calm. "I am."
The woman was panting for breath, holding her bleeding side.
"You could have let me handle it."
Aarav turned to her.
"And gained nothing?"
Her face stiffened.
Before she could say a word, a sudden change occurred.
There was a pressure that descended.
Not physical.
Aarav could sense it—
attention.
Something ancient had noticed him.
Not because he was strong. But because he'd decided on efficiency over doubt.
Far away, an inheritance recorded his presence.
[Anomaly Confirmed]
There was no pride in Aarav. It was only confirmation.
If this world rewards cruelty and sharp minds...
Then he'd give it both.
Since, this time, he had no intention of merely surviving.